#breaking bones
It was the little things, really, that she hated. He tortured her of course, but what she really couldn’t take was the way he stretched after, like he had done anything strenuous. The way he ate in front of her, not the fact that he did, but instead how his mouth made stupidly loud noises and exaggerated shapes just from eating a sandwich. She hated how he grinned, teeth crooked and lips cracked. It’s strange, she’d always found a crooked smile charming, now she just wants to break his jaw.
He would leave her and it felt like a breath of sorely missed fresh air, but then she would hear his heavy footsteps above her. She would hear the occasional laugh or heavy sigh and she would imagine suffocating him until he couldn’t do either. She could even hear his bed creak when he settled in for the night, groaning loud under his weight. She would sleep too, except he had alarms set randomly throughout the night. She doesn’t know if it’s specifically designed to keep her up or if he just doesn’t know about the incessant noise that mixed with his grunting snores. Because of course he wouldn’t wake up to them. No, he would wake up at around 10 am the next day and he would walk down the steps to start the day with a new torture device to try out. He promised a bat tomorrow, to break her kneecaps.
She would break every bone in his body if she could, all 206, then go back to break them all again.
She hated him and the only thing keeping her going was her burning, festering spite.
